A second reflection - Confessions III.

A reddy mess.

Confessions III. - 23rd February, 2025.

It has now been utterly proven: the poet can finally speak.

Favorite spot in town,

smothered with the renown

heart-string.

Sun all-pleasing the skin,

kaneelbroodje,

thoughts reddy-struck,

is there something to win?

He reclaims: “I know that schmuck,

their little grin.”

‘Till that fortunate visit to the loo,

’till the butcher shouts:

”the man is anew”

— can the unrealizable reality dawn, here ‘bout.

One of my friends taught me that I should stop looking at relationships, and love, as linear, as forever lasting. Instead, focus on the lasting moment and the next. See this person as part of this moment of your life story, after all, life is a continuous upbuilding journey, perhaps a heavenly gift. I shall not pronounce ‘till death do us part, but rather ‘till death do me part.

For 82 days Romeo returned in the night, all alone. Now he returns with a — at least patched — heart.

I know that if your presence keeps attending mine; I know if your eyes keep catching mine; I know that if your tantalizing breath keeps drawing on me; I know that if your feet keep clinging unto mine…I will fall to unimaginable heights, my hastily burning love will be unmatched…and yours will be mine. I know myself too well.

‘Run sister run’ a wise man spoke.

Oh, when the ardent possibility strikes, no one is spared — all naked one walks into the shore, and there he drowns in the quicksand. Oh, his lovestruck soul is barely intelligible.

Oh, the most dangerous is this drug. Finds one another in one, snaps in two, develops in three, capitalizes in four, romanticizes in five, and in six nights it cages you. ‘You’re mine now’, it demands.

täten armas minä olen rakkauden sieppaaja: sen siepatun sielu. Vai oliko sinun siepattu sielu minun?

‘you know me too well’, you know me too well, echoes in his head. Captivating, demanding, telepathic…is this gravity between two soulless souls. You were hurt, you’re hurt; I am hurt, I were hurt, and still I am hurt, and there we shall meet.

Puppy blue eyes in the endless night, one after the other. My battered soul is your smoking ground, I can sense this hostile takeover, oh you mighty destroyer!

My only defense, my only weapon against your barrage is my even mightier heart. It refuses to give in: it maims my mouth, it freezes my sense of touch, it blinds my eyes, it demands: “Don’t look at her incomparable beauty.” And still, I cannot help but do it.

What will you be: my beacon of light in the lightless night, or my destroyer, my burial director? Oh, too sweet is your soul.

...

Dedicated to my friend, for he, if someone, deserves love; reciprocal love.

And to the beautiful, sweet little girl: your heart is a closed open-book; but I swear, I swear, I will not break it; I will cherish it. She, if someone, deserves love.

...

Life is the greatest addiction, the majestic quest of time, and love is its lethal weapon, a poison of Godly perplexing. [an unreferenced quote by a great physicist]

I am an ageless sinner. She can never know. My ship is sinking, love is my only sailor and she is doing spectacular work; she is magnificent, wondrous, and illustrious; her cuteness, and beauty, are my greatest sins; God forgiving, may she captain my torn ship?

O.K